


you're already the voice inside my head

by softirwin



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, M/M, Telepathy, after like 5 fucking years omfg, holy shit!!!! another fic!!!!!, kidding but its just easier, sorry crystal but for the sake of ART
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin
Summary: “Michael didn’t say anything, mate,” Luke says, confused.“Yes, he did,” Calum says, exasperated.“I…no, I didn’t,” Michael says slowly.“What the fuck, Mike?” Calum says, perplexed.“I didn’t say it, Cal…I thought it.”-----aka a telepathy fic
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 43
Kudos: 169





	you're already the voice inside my head

**Author's Note:**

> SO........its me again!! 
> 
> i cannot believe 5 years later here i am with another malum fic but that's the way the world works i guess! this is literally so strange i cannot lie and i'm super nervous about posting this i've been putting it off but i've really been wanting to get back into writing again because i am super rusty after all this time and i miss writing i loved it it was so cathartic and fun so here we are (also can't lie since no shame dropped i've been getting back into 5sos sooo...) 
> 
> be gentle i am very out of practice x

Calum doesn’t even notice he’s got Michael’s voice in his head, at first.

It’s not until one afternoon, when he’s lounging on the tour bus, and he hears Michael wonder whether he remembered to unplug his hairdryer.

“You did,” Calum says, not looking up from his phone.

“What?” Luke asks.

“Michael,” Calum offers, by way of an explanation.

“What about me?” Michael says. Calum glances at him.

“You did unplug your hairdryer,” Calum says.

“What?” Luke asks again. Calum rolls his eyes.

“Michael asked whether he remembered to unplug his hairdryer,” Calum says, in the kind of tone he would use to explain something to a child. “So I was telling him he did.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Michael didn’t say anything, mate,” Luke says, confused.

“Yes, he did,” Calum says, exasperated.

“I…no, I didn’t,” Michael says slowly.

“What the fuck, Mike?” Calum says, perplexed. Why the fuck is everyone acting like Michael didn’t just ask whether he unplugged his hairdryer? “This is gaslighting, I’ll have you know.”

“I didn’t say it, Cal…I thought it.”

“You what?” Luke asks.

“I thought it,” Michael repeats. “I was wondering whether I unplugged my hairdryer.”

“You did,” Calum reminds him, helpfully.

“What the fuck?” Luke asks. “You can hear Michael’s thoughts?”

“What the- no, Luke, he fucking said it!” Calum says.

“I didn’t!” Michael protests. “I’m telling you, I didn’t, I just thought it.”

“Well, how’d I hear it, then?” Calum asks, rounding on Michael.

 _I don’t know_ , Michael says, but his lips aren’t moving.

Shit.

What the fuck?

“Holy shit,” Calum says, and sits down.

“Are you okay?” Luke asks, sounding only mildly concerned. “Do you need, like, an ice pack, or something?”

 _As if he even knows where the first aid kit is on the bus_ , Michael says.

Except, he doesn’t.

“Mikey,” Calum says faintly.

“I know,” Michael whispers.

 _Can you hear_ me _?_ Calum thinks.

“Yeah,” Michael says dazedly. “Yeah, I can. Fucking hell, mate.”

Yeah, Calum thinks dizzily. Fucking hell is certainly one way to describe it.

\-------

Ashton thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

“How are you guys ever going to have sex again?” he crows delightedly, with a glint in his eye. Calum groans – he hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles. “Maybe it’ll go away.”

“Or maybe you’re going to be stuck listening to Michael think about Magic: The Gathering for the next sixty years,” Ashton points out.

 _Oh, fucking hell,_ Calum thinks. 

“Hey,” Michael says, pointing accusingly at Calum. “I don’t like your tone.”

“I don’t like _this_ ,” Luke says decisively.

“You and me both, mate,” Calum mutters.

“I don’t want to be left out of things just because you and Michael have some- some, fucking, I don’t know, mind-meld, or something,” Luke says, as if Calum hadn’t even spoken.

“Want to swap?” Calum asks. “You want _Michael_ in your head all day?”

“Again with the tone,” Michael says, throwing his hands in the air. _What’s that supposed to mean anyway, huh? ‘Michael’, as if you’d rather have_ Ashton _in your head?_ he adds.

“I don’t even know who’s worse,” Calum says. “I don’t want any of you in my head. And I definitely don’t want to be in any of yours.”

“Sleep it off,” Ashton suggests.

“ _Sleep it_ \- Ashton, this is _telepathy_ , not a fucking hangover,” Calum says. “I can’t just _sleep it off_.”

“How do you know?” Ashton asks sensibly. Calum opens his mouth to respond, but finds he has nothing to say, because he doesn’t know, actually, does he? As far as he’s aware, no one fucking knows anything about telepathy, because _telepathy doesn’t exist_.

 _Maybe we should try it,_ Michael’s voice pipes up. Calum squeezes his eyes shut. His mind feels crowded, an undertone of Michael suddenly colouring every corner of his brain.

 _I’m sorry_ , Michael adds, and he sounds like he means it.

 _Not your fault_ , Calum thinks tiredly. He pauses for a second, considering, and then adds: _Is it?_

“Fucking hell, Calum, obviously not,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t want this any more than you do.”

“You’re right,” Ashton says to Luke. “I don’t like this.”

“New rule,” Luke declares. “Everyone has to speak their thoughts.”

“How are you planning on enforcing that?” Michael asks.

“Brute force,” Luke says. Michael snorts.

“No, no, he has a point,” Ashton says, putting a hand on Michael’s arm and nodding at Luke. “Let the man speak.”

“It’s not fair if you two know what’s going on and we don’t,” Luke says, pointing at Calum and Michael. “We’re a foursome. Ash and I need to know what’s going on too – this isn’t going to work if we’re permanently playing catch-up.”

“I’m not telling you every single thought I have throughout the day, Luke,” Calum says. “And I don’t want to hear every thought Ashton has throughout the day, either.”

“Why me?” Ashton asks indignantly.

“You like My Little Pony,” Michael says. “Your thoughts are not to be trusted.”

“He makes a fair point,” Luke tells Ashton.

“You won’t know whether we’re telling you our thoughts or not, anyway,” Calum points out. _I’m good at lying to you guys by now_.

“Hey,” Michael says, frowning. “About what?”

“We will know when you do shit like this,” Ashton says. “Use your _words_.”

“I am using my words!” Calum says.

“He is using his words,” Michael says to Ashton.

“Yeah, to you, mate! Not to us!” Luke says.

“Alright, new rule,” Calum says. “Speak your thoughts if it’s important.”

“That’s just having a normal conversation,” Ashton says.

“Exactly,” Calum says. “We’ll just carry on as normal. And I promise if Michael starts thinking about Magic: The Gathering I’ll tell you so we can shame him in tandem.”

“Hey!” Michael protests.

“Fine,” Ashton says, ignoring Michael, who’s now passionately arguing a defence of the game which seems to consist mostly of ‘how can you hate a game that’s got someone called Nicol Bolas in it?’. “But I still don’t like it.”

“I don’t either,” Luke adds.

“Neither do I,” Calum says.

“Nor me,” Michael says. 

“Well, that’s that settled, then,” Ashton says, clapping his hands together. “You guys fucking suck.”

Calum throws his water bottle at him.

\-------

The first few days are absolute hell.

Calum realises he’s suddenly flooded with Michael’s thoughts, crowding alongside his own, every single minute of the day. It’s exhausting, having a constant Michael-monologue alongside his own, thinking _I really need a shit, are we out of loo roll? No, Ashton bought some last week. Fuck, the bathroom’s so bright, and my head hurts – I don’t even_ like _tequila, who the fuck gave me that last night? I bet it was Luke, the bastard. I’m never drinking again, I swear to God. Well, maybe not tonight, at least. Well, definitely not until this hangover wears off. Well, actually-_

The only respite Calum gets is in the early morning, when Michael’s still asleep, his dreams only a dull buzz in the back of Calum’s mind so Calum’s own thoughts get some room to breathe.

The one saving grace – and it really is the only one – is that it’s Michael, and not Luke or Ashton or anyone else on the planet. Calum’s always been able to tell what Michael’s thinking and feeling and vice versa, so the shock of having someone else in his mind is somewhat mitigated by the fact that it’s Michael. Calum doesn’t really have much to hide from Michael, anyway, but he’d still rather have his thoughts to himself.

“Fucking hell,” Michael says blearily one morning, stumbling into the kitchen area rubbing his eyes. “You think so much.” Calum holds out the coffee he’d already made for Michael, as soon as he heard Michael’s dreams start to ebb away and felt him stirring into consciousness.

“You knew that already,” he says. Michael takes the mug from him and takes a sip, tipping his head back in bliss as he leans against the counter.

“Yeah,” Michael says, eyes fluttering shut. “I just didn’t realise how much you weren’t saying.” Calum frowns.

“You been rooting around in my head?” he asks. Michael shrugs.

“No,” he says. “Just listening.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I can’t fucking help it, Cal,” Michael says. “You think so loudly.”

“ _I_ think loudly?” Calum says. “Mate, I had to listen to a whole half-hour whine about how much you hate tequila yesterday morning.”

“God, I fucking _hate_ tequila,” Michael mutters.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “I fucking know.”

“We’re going to have to figure out a system,” Michael says decisively. “So we can think in peace.”

“Like what, imagine a sock on a door handle?” Calum says sarcastically.

 _You know what,_ Michael starts, and Calum rolls his eyes.

“I was joking, you idiot,” he says.

“Yeah, but it’s not a half-bad idea,” Michael says thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the mug. “Here, let me try. Listen to me.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Calum mutters, but he sharpens his focus a little, makes space in his mind for Michael.

 _Right,_ Michael thinks, determined. _I’m going to think of a sock on a door handle, then something I don’t want you to see. Stop looking after the sock, okay?_

“Alright,” Calum says.

The image of a sock on a door handle comes up, and Calum tries to tear his focus away, tries to remember the bassline he’d had in his head all of yesterday evening but had been too lazy to record. The image behind the door does get slightly fuzzier, and Calum’s almost succeeded in shoving it into a far corner of his mind, when-

“Is that…that’s my arse, Mike,” Calum says. Michael shrugs.

“You’re not supposed to be looking,” he says.

“It’s my arse,” Calum says. “I’m going to look.” _Why is he thinking about my arse?_

“It’s a good arse,” Michael says defensively, in response to Calum’s unspoken question.

“It is,” Calum agrees. “So you can’t blame me for looking.” Michael scowls.

“You try it, then,” Michael says, more than a little petulantly, crossing his arms.

 _Fine_ , Calum thinks. He conjures up an image of a sock on a door handle, and then pushes through the door to an image of Michael in a Year Nine music lesson, laughing so hard his eyes are scrunched shut, and a warm flare in Calum’s stomach knowing that he’s the one making Michael laugh like that.

“Hey,” Michael says. “That’s cute.”

“You’re not very good at this,” Calum says. “Did you even _try_ not to look?”

“No,” Michael says. “But I’ll try this time, do it again.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he gets ready to do it again, because he’s never been one to say no to Michael.

 _That’s what I love about you_ , Michael thinks, and he’s grinning. He looks so soft, Calum thinks, with the sleeves of his jumper pulled over his hands, still clutching his coffee, hair sticking up in all directions. _And that,_ Michael adds. _God, if I’d known how constantly validated I’d be by your thoughts I’d have found a way to do this sooner._

“Get out of my head,” Calum grumbles.

“I’m trying,” Michael says. “Or, I would be, if you’d start thinking.”

“Keep your fucking hair on,” Calum mutters. He thinks of a sock on a door handle, as loudly as he possibly can, and then pushes the door open to reveal an image of the crowd from stage left, screaming, thousands of faces bathed in soft purple light.

“Oh,” Michael says, sounding surprised. “I can feel it’s there, but I’m not looking.” Calum doesn’t believe him.

“I don’t believe you,” he tells Michael.

“What d’you mean, you don’t believe me? You can read my fucking mind, Cal,” Michael says (quite fairly, Calum thinks in retrospect).

Calum focuses on the Michael-shaped space in his mind, reaches into it, and sees that Michael’s telling the truth – he sensed something behind the door, but as long as he resisted the urge to follow it, he didn’t see what it was.

“I’m the master of self-control,” Michael declares.

“Let me try again,” Calum objects. “I was close last time. It was just because you were thinking about my fucking arse.”

“Alright,” Michael says. “But let it be known that _I_ managed it before you.”

 _Dickhead_ , Calum thinks.

“What was that?” Michael asks, cupping his ear. “Speak up.”

“I said, dickhead,” Calum says loudly. Michael flips him off. “Think of your fucking door already, mate.”

Michael flips him off again, but when Calum focuses on Michael’s thoughts, he sees a door with a sock on the handle. He can feel something behind it, sense there’s a thought there just _bursting_ for Calum’s attention, but he forces himself to turn away from the door, to focus on the way Michael’s eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, on the way he’s biting his lip, on the small hands still curled around the now-lukewarm mug of coffee. It’s actually fairly easy, Calum finds, once he turns away from the door, to resist it.

“Easy,” Calum says, leaning back. “Now I don’t have to listen to you thinking about, fucking, D&D, or whatever.”

“You learnt from the best,” Michael tells him. “I’m going to get dressed.” He leaves before Calum has a chance to respond, taking his coffee with him.

 _Dickhead_ , Calum thinks again, but he’s smiling.

 _Love you too_ , Michael retorts.

\-------

Michael wants to kill Ashton.

Calum knows this, because it’s the only thing Michael’s been thinking for about fifteen minutes. Ashton’s been snappy all day, but he’s taken it out on Michael the most, yelling at him every time he’s messed up a single riff at soundcheck. He always takes it out on Michael, because no one can yell at Luke with a good conscience, and he won’t get a rise out of Calum so there’s no point. 

“Michael, can you just shut the fuck up?” Calum groans, fingers stilling on his bass when yet another colourful thought about whether or not Ashton’s hair is long enough to strangle him with forces its way into the forefront of his mind. “I can’t fucking focus.”

“Fucking hell, sorry, I’ll just turn my brain off then, shall I?” Michael says irately.

“He’s not said anything,” Luke says.

“He fucking has,” Calum mutters darkly. “Sock on the door handle, Mike, sock on the door handle.”

“Bit hard to think of that when Ashton’s being such a prick,” Michael bites out.

“What the fuck did _I_ do?” Ashton shouts from his drums.

“Are you taking the piss?” Michael yells back. Calum can _feel_ the fury bubbling under the surface, an echo of Michael’s pure hot rage worming its way into Calum’s mind.

 _Hey_ , he thinks, setting his bass down against an amp. _Let’s go outside_.

“I don’t want to,” Michael snaps.

“I don’t care,” Calum says, marching over and grabbing Michael by the arm. Michael squawks, but manages to disentangle himself from his guitar as Calum drags him outside, handing it to a tech backstage.

Calum can almost feel Michael’s relief when the cool air hits him, and he tilts his own face into the slight breeze with a contented sigh.

“What the fuck is up with him?” Michael murmurs, already slightly calmer, although Calum can almost feel the electric thrum of anger under his skin. He lets his hand slip down from Michael’s forearm to his hand, tangling their fingers together loosely.

“He’s just having a bad day,” Calum says.

“Why’s he taking it out on me?” Michael asks.

“Because you react,” Calum says.

“Fuck you,” Michael says, but there’s no heat behind the words, and he laces his fingers through Calum’s properly.

 _I miss this_ , Calum thinks, before he can stop himself.

“Miss what?” Michael asks curiously. Calum shrugs, uncomfortable, and conjures up an image of a sock on a door handle. “Oh, come on,” Michael huffs, but Calum doesn’t feel him prying.

He misses his one-on-one time with Michael. He misses waking up in the morning in Michael’s bed, limbs all tangled together, inches away from Michael’s face. He misses holding Michael’s hand whenever he wanted, misses Michael resting his head on Calum’s shoulder when he’s sleepy, misses the little absent-minded kisses Michael would press to his skin when no one was watching. They’re too big for that now, both too adult and too famous, but fuck if Calum doesn’t want it back.

“I miss you,” Calum says, eventually. It’s true; his fingers are always itching to pull Michael closer whenever he’s near.

“I’m right here,” Michael says.

“I know,” Calum says, squeezing Michael’s hand. They’re silent for a moment, Calum keeping the image of the sock on the door handle up lest Michael see what he’s thinking.

“I miss you too,” Michael says after a while. “I miss all those things too.”

“Are you looking?” Calum asks accusingly.

“No,” Michael says. “I just know.” Calum sighs. 

“We just never get any time anymore,” he says. “There’s always something, or someone. I just want a fucking break, you know? A break with you, without Luke and Ash.” He feels guilty as soon as he says it. “Not that I don’t love them, but-”

“Cal,” Michael says gently. “I know.” Calum exhales, long and slow.

“We should go somewhere,” he says. “Next break we get. Let’s just- just fucking go somewhere.”

“Yeah?” Michael says, and Calum can hear the smile in his voice. “Where?”

“I don’t care,” Calum says, letting his eyes close as the breeze steals over him. _As long as I’m with you_.

“You’re fucking adorable,” Michael says.

“Shut up,” Calum mumbles, but he’s smiling too.

“Hey,” Michael says. _Look at me_. Calum opens his eyes obediently, and turns to face Michael, gazing into the sea-green eyes he knows better than his own. 

_Beautiful_ , he thinks, before he can stop himself. Michael smiles again, shy and self-conscious.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” Calum says honestly. Michael’s smile widens, and he brings his free hand up to cup Calum’s face, stroking his thumb across Calum’s jaw.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” Calum says, and then he leans forwards and presses his lips to Michael’s, feeling them soft, warm, familiar beneath his own. They haven’t kissed like this in years, nothing more than sloppy drunken kisses or chaste little pecks, and Calum feels the familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach as he drinks in Michael all around him; Michael’s hand on his jaw, Michael’s scent, Michael’s hips so tantalisingly close to his own, Michael, Michael, _Michael_. He slips his arm around Michael’s waist and pulls him closer, stroking the curve of his hip as they kiss, lazy and slow, until Calum’s dizzy with how much he _wants_ , how much he _loves_ , how much he _needs_.

Eventually, they break apart, resting their foreheads together, and Michael lets his hand drop to the nape of Calum’s neck, stroking the soft hair there. Calum feels sixteen again, feels like the first time they admitted they both liked guys and nervously kissed to see whether it was different to kissing girls, feels the same jittery anticipation and excitement flaring that he feels every fucking time they kiss and never feels with anyone else. 

“Better?” Calum asks.

“Better,” Michael agrees. He presses one last gentle kiss to Calum’s lips before stepping away, and Calum feels a sudden ache at the loss of contact. He brings his fingers up to his lips absent-mindedly, tracing them with his fingertips. “C’mon, can’t leave the band without their hottest member for too long.” Michael kicks open the door they’d come out of and turns back to Calum with an expectant look on his face.

“Ha ha,” Calum says sarcastically, following Michael into the bright artificial light of backstage and trying to ignore the way he can still feel Michael on his lips. “They’re probably celebrating not having to be in your company for a whole ten minutes.”

 _Wasn’t talking about me_ , Michael thinks, and then a door handle with a sock on is immediately flashing hard and panicked in the ‘Michael’ part of Calum’s mind.

“What was that?” Calum asks, threading through the people bustling around backstage to try and catch up with Michael, who’s pretty much jogging ahead.

“Nothing,” Michael says, too quickly. “And leave my door alone.”

Calum does, because Michael had accorded him the same respect earlier, but it doesn’t stop him wondering.

\-------

The band have a rare day off tomorrow, and instead of choosing to spend the evening beforehand partying as they usually would, they’ve taken the group decision to have a night in so they can enjoy the next day not hungover.

(Calum, he wants it on record, did not vote for a night in.)

“Move over,” Luke says, prodding Calum’s knees with his foot.

“To _where_?” Calum asks. “I’m fucking hanging off the sofa already, mate.”

“I’ll sit on your lap, Cal,” Michael says.

“I don’t want you to sit on my lap,” Calum says.

“You can sit on my lap,” Ashton offers.

“I’ll sit on your lap,” Luke says.

“Not you,” Ashton says. “I won’t see anything with you sat on me.”

“Hey,” Luke says, affronted. “That’s height discrimination.”

“Yep,” Ashton says.

“I don’t want to sit on your lap,” Michael tells Ashton. “I want to sit on Calum’s.”

“Well, I don’t want you on my lap,” Calum says.

 _Never had a problem with it before_ , Michael thinks.

“You’re a little shit,” Calum tells him, but he takes his hands off his lap and opens his arms for Michael to sit down.

“We had a rule about this,” Luke says, half-on Ashton’s lap, half-off. Michael settles down on Calum’s lap, curling up so his head is resting on Calum’s shoulder.

 _You won’t see the screen that way_ , Calum thinks.

“I do possess the ability to turn my head,” Michael says.

“Do you two know how fucking insane you sound to outsiders?” Ashton asks, shaking his head. “Luke, press play.”

“I don’t have the remote,” Luke says. “And stop talking to each other without us.”

“You had it last,” Calum says. “Where did you put it?”

“I don’t have it!” Luke says.

“I’m not saying you do, I’m saying you had it last!” Calum says.

“I’ve got it,” Michael says, wriggling on Calum’s lap and fishing the little remote out of his pocket.

“Press play already,” Ashton says. Michael does, and the opening credits for Home Alone start. Luke, Calum and Michael groan.

“Who the fuck chose this?” Michael demands.

“Me,” Ashton says. “My turn. You know the rules. None of us complained when _you_ put on High School Musical.”

“Yes you fucking did,” Michael says.

“We did,” Luke tells Ashton.

“Alright, fine, but we _watched_ it,” Ashton says. “That’s the _rule_. We all get to choose one and everyone has to watch.”

“I think we should amend the rule,” Michael says. “We all get to choose, except Ashton.”

“I second that,” Luke says.

“I’m vetoing it,” Ashton says.

“Can we watch the fucking film?” Calum says.

“Alright, alright, we’re fucking watching,” Ashton grumbles. Michael settles back against Calum, nosing into his neck slightly as he makes himself comfortable, making Calum shiver slightly.

 _Make yourself at home,_ he thinks sarcastically, when it’s been a good fifteen seconds and Michael’s still squirming.

 _You’re all bone and muscle_ , Michael complains.

 _I’ll take that as a compliment,_ Calum thinks.

 _It wasn’t one_.

 _I’m taking it as one._ Calum doesn’t need to have a foothold in Michael’s mind to know that he’s rolling his eyes.

 _You smell good_ , Michael thinks, after a while.

 _Yeah?_ Calum replies.

 _Yeah_ , Michael says, nuzzling against Calum’s chest. It makes Calum’s heart swell in a way he’s pretty sure he hasn’t felt in a long time. He wraps his arms around Michael and strokes his thumb gently, absent-mindedly, over Michael’s thigh.

 _Hey_ , Michael thinks, soft and warm.

 _Hey_ , Calum thinks fondly. _Love you._

 _Have you ever been in love?_ Calum blinks.

 _Bit deep for a night in with the boys_ , he thinks.

 _Have you?_ Michael persists.

 _No._

He gets nothing back from Michael.

 _Michael?_ he tries, after a few minutes.

_Yeah?_

_Have you?_

_Been in love?_ Michael asks. Calum frowns; he’s stalling for time, but Calum doesn’t know why.

 _Yeah_.

 _Yeah,_ Michael thinks. _Once_.

 _Who?_ Calum asks, curious, and there’s suddenly a door handle with a sock on in his way. _Come on, Mikey,_ he groans internally.

 _No_ , Michael thinks, firmly. The hard edge to his tone bewilders Calum slightly – Michael never has his guard up like this with Calum. With Luke, with Ashton, sure, there’s things Michael doesn’t want them to know, but never with _Calum_.

 _Alright, fine_ , Calum thinks. _Don’t tell me then._ He can’t help the edge of hurt that leaks into his thoughts, and he knows Michael can feel it too, from the way his presence recoils slightly from Calum’s mind.

It’s fine, Calum tries to tell himself. Michael doesn’t owe him anything. Just because they’ve been friends since they were God knows how old, just because he thought they shared everything with each other, just because this whole telepathy thing hasn’t actually been that bad because it was Michael he was sharing his thoughts with, doesn’t mean Michael owes him any explanations he doesn’t want to give. It’s fine.

(They don’t speak for the rest of the film, and Calum’s not sure what hurts more.)

\-------

“I swear to God,” Calum says, stumbling into the lounge area at eleven a.m. the next morning, and pointing accusingly at Michael. “If you don’t get that fucking song out of your head, I’m going to kill you.”

“What song?” Michael asks innocently. _IF I COULD HAVE A MINUTE PLEASE, THEN I’LL BRING YOU TO YOUR KNE-_

“I’m going to _fucking_ kill you,” Calum says warningly.

“What song?” Luke wants to know.

“Contagious Chemistry,” Calum says.

“Fuck, I haven’t heard that song since I was like, fourteen,” Luke says.

“Neither had I until last night,” Calum mutters darkly. “I’ve probably heard it more times in the last twelve hours than in my previous twenty-four years of existence.”

“You’re welcome,” Michael says graciously.

“Did I mention I’m going to fucking kill you?” Calum says. “I’m going for a shower, and that song better be out of our fucking heads by the time I get back.” He turns on his heel and walks back towards the bunk area.

 _Our heads_ , he hears Michael echo, before a door handle with a sock on is conjured up. Calum doesn’t even bother pushing, just traipses on through to the shower, but he feels his stomach flip unpleasantly.

Whatever, he thinks, with only the slightest edge of bitterness. If Michael doesn’t want to share, he doesn’t have to. And two can play at that game.

\-------

They decide to spend their day off go-karting.

Calum stays close to Ashton all day, because they’re the two that like to go absolutely roaring around the track, tempting death enough times for Michael to shriek _be careful!_ into Calum’s mind. It makes Calum slightly giddy, and sure, maybe he drives a little riskier than usual just to hear Michael care, but he tells himself it’s just for the entertainment value. He keeps a big fucking door handle with a sock on up the entire time, though, pushing away the tendrils of guilt that wrap around it with the knowledge he’s just doing it out of spite.

“You’re fucking insane,” Ashton tells him when they get out, shaking his hair out with a grin.

“I can’t believe you still fucking beat me,” Calum grumbles, dabbing at his forehead with his forearm. Ashton claps a sweaty hand on his shoulder.

“It’s my one and a half extra years on the planet,” he says.

“You were go-karting straight out of the womb?” Calum asks.

“Absolute menace, I was,” Ashton says.

“No need for the past tense,” Luke says, catching up with them.

“You fucking stink,” Calum tells him. “When was the last time you showered?”

“Hey,” Michael says, tugging on Calum’s arm. “Cal.”

“What?” Calum asks, pausing and letting Luke and Ashton walk ahead, bickering loudly about whether or not Luke’s body wash actually does make him smell good for four days without a shower.

“Stop it.” Michael’s voice is low, serious.

“Stop what?”

“You’re shutting me out,” Michael says.

“So what?”

“ _Calum_.”

“ _Michael_ ,” Calum mimics. “You don’t want me in your head, I don’t want you in mine. What’s the problem?” Michael looks hurt.

“It’s not like that,” Michael says.

“It’s fine,” Calum says. “You don’t owe me anything. Your thoughts are private.”

“Cal, it’s not-”

“Look,” Calum says. “You don’t owe me shit, okay? It’s fine. We’re fine. We can try and find a way to end the, fucking, mind-meld, or whatever it is.” He pulls his arm free of Michael’s grasp and jogs a little to catch up with Luke and Ashton, trying his best to ignore the hurt radiating from Michael behind him.

“Your shower gel does _not_ work for four days, Luke,” Calum tells him, and Luke squawks indignantly, shouting over Ashton’s _thank you, Calum, finally some fucking sanity in this band_ that actually, yes, it does work for four days, thank you very much, it even says so on the bottle and he’s going to show everyone when they get back to the bus.

Michael doesn’t catch up with them, and when he gets onto the bus he heads straight for the bunks and draws his curtain.

“What’s up with him?” Luke asks, concerned. Calum shrugs, but he feels the guilt starting to creep in. He’s a fucking dick. He’s just fucked with Michael out of spite, because he was hurt that Michael didn’t share something that he had absolutely no right to know.

“What did you do?” Ashton asks.

“What did _I-_ I didn’t do anything!” Calum splutters. Ashton narrows his eyes; they both know he knows Calum better than that.

“He’s never like this unless it’s to do with you,” Ashton says. “Plus, you can read his fucking mind. Just, like, look for what’s wrong, I don’t know.”

“Door handle,” Calum says.

“So push past it,” Ashton says.

“That’s- no,” Calum says. “He’s entitled to his own thoughts.” The guilt prods at him again when he says that.

“Would he even know?” Luke asks.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “You can feel it, when someone’s looking.”

“Talk to him, then,” Ashton says. Calum sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “As long as Luke showers in exchange.” Luke scowls and flips him off, but follows him through to the bunk area and rummages around for a towel.

 _Mikey?_ Calum tries, not wanting to talk while Luke’s upending his bunk.

_What?_

_Can we talk?_

_We’re talking_. Calum sighs.

 _Properly talk?_ he thinks. _I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry_.

Silence.

Then, as Luke ambles off to the shower, whistling off-key, Michael’s curtain opens.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m sorry,” Calum says.

“Good,” Michael says.

“I know you don’t owe me anything,” Calum says. “It just…I don’t know. I thought…but I thought wrong. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“What did you think?” Michael asks. Calum shrugs.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says.

“Tell me,” Michael says. For a brief second, Calum’s tempted to simply throw up another sock on a door handle, and he knows Michael sees the temptation cross his mind. “Not that sorry, then, are you?”

“No, Mikey, I am,” Calum says. “I’m just not fucking perfect, alright? I know you’re entitled to your own thoughts, but I also thought we shared everything with each other. So.” He shrugs uncomfortably. “Guess I’m just trying to reconcile logic with my feelings.”

 _Why do you want to know?_ Michael asks.

_Know what?_

_All of it_.

“I just do,” Calum says. “I don’t like not knowing what you’re thinking, Mikey. But you don’t have to tell me.”

There’s another moment of silence, tense, this time, and then Calum sees another door handle.

Without a sock on it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks. Michael says nothing, but the image of the door handle remains there.

“What the fuck, Michael?” Calum sighs. “Are you going to give me shit if I go in?”

“Maybe,” Michael mumbles.

“Are you going to give me shit if I stay out?”

“Maybe.” Calum sighs again, and pushes through the door.

On the other side, he sees himself. Rapid-fire snapshots: him, aged nine, sticking his tongue out as he tried to get his joined-up handwriting good enough for a pen license; him, aged thirteen, nervously singing a song he’d written to Michael; him, aged sixteen, gazing in wonder up at Buckingham Palace; him, aged eighteen, singing his heart out onstage; him, aged twenty, sleeping curled up on Michael’s shoulder; him, aged twenty-one, laughing at a joke Ashton had told; him, aged twenty-three, gazing earnestly at Michael and saying _I love you, Mikey, you know that, right? You’re my best friend, and I can’t ever lose you_.

“I don’t get it,” Calum says.

“Don’t you?” Michael says, and there’s a definite edge of nervousness to his voice.

“That’s me,” Calum says.

“Yeah,” Michael says.

“Is this your way of apologising?” Calum asks.

“No, idiot,” Michael says. His voice sounds small. The image cuts back to the one of Calum aged sixteen, gazing up at Buckingham Palace with amazement clearly etched onto his face.

 _That’s when I knew I was in love with you_.

It hits Calum like a tonne of bricks.

Michael loves him. Well, of course he loves him, but he’s _in love_ with him.

“Oh,” Calum whispers. “I’m- oh.”

“Yeah,” Michael says tightly. “So now you know. I don’t have to hide it. You can see. Happy?”

“Mikey, I-”

“Don’t,” Michael says fiercely. “Just- just don’t.”

For the first time in his life, Calum doesn’t know what to say to Michael, so he just says nothing.

\-------

Calum does what he always does when he needs advice and has already spoken to Michael – he talks to Ashton.

“Can we talk?” Calum asks, low so Luke won’t hear over the sound of their MarioKart game. Ashton looks at him, sees the stricken expression on his face, and nods immediately.

“Of course, mate,” he says. “Luke, I’m just going out for a minute. Try not to cheat while I’m gone.”

“I would _never_ do that,” Luke says solemnly, but he’s already reaching for Ashton’s controller. Ashton hits him upside the head, and heads out of the bus, Calum in tow.

“Did you speak to him?” Ashton says, when they get outside. Calum nods, still feeling numb from the shock. “And?” Ashton prompts.

“He- fuck, Ash,” Calum whispers. “He’s in love with me.”

“Well, yeah,” Ashton says. There’s a pause, and then he adds: “hang on, are you telling me you didn’t know that?”

“I- what?” Calum’s thrown. “You- you knew?”

“What?” Ashton says, sounding equally confused. “Cal, everyone knows.”

“What?” Calum says again. “How does everyone know? Did he say something?”

“ _What?_ ” Ashton says in disbelief. “Calum, have you _seen_ the way he looks at you?”

“I- no, I…wait, _what_?” Ashton rolls his eyes.

“Do you think Michael – _Michael_ – would let just anyone beat him at Halo? Do you think he’d skip Christmas with his family to spend it with anyone but you? Do you think anyone else would ever be the first person he turned to in any situation, happy or sad?”

“Well, no, but that’s just- y’know, we’re best mates, we’ve known each other since we were kids, and-” Calum starts. Ashton cuts him off with a disbelieving shake of his head.

“I can’t believe you, Calum,” he says. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” Calum mumbles.

“ _Nothing?_ ” Ashton says. “Fucking hell, Cal. You’re meant to be the emotionally intelligent one.”

“I- what the fuck are you _meant_ to say when your best friend tells you he’s been in love with you for _eight years_?” Calum asks.

“Well, are you in love with him?” Ashton asks.

“I mean…I don’t know,” Calum says slowly. “I don’t- how do I know?” He definitely _loves_ Michael, loves him like he’s the only star in Calum’s sky, but how is he supposed to know if he’s _in_ love?

“Well,” Ashton says, shrugging. “I can’t tell you that. You’ll know, I think.”

“But I _don’t_ ,” Calum says, desperation leaking into his voice. “Michael’s just always- he’s always been there, y’know? He’s been my Michael since we were like, seven. No one’s ever come close to him – no one ever could – so I’ve never been in love, so don’t have anything to compare it to.” Ashton throws him a look that he can’t quite decipher.

“I think you have your answer, mate,” he says gently. “Look, I’m going back in. I think…I think you should take some time to think about it. Maybe with a sock on a door handle up, for Michael’s sake. And then talk to him.”

“And say what?” Calum asks. Ashton shrugs.

“I can’t tell you that,” he says. He slips an arm around Calum’s waist, gives him a quick squeeze, and heads back inside.

Great, Calum thinks, tipping his head back and letting it hit the bus with a thud. What the fuck?

His mind is working at a hundred miles a minute, so fast his emotions haven’t had anywhere near enough time to catch up – he still feels numb, shocked, and utterly bewildered. How is he supposed to know if he’s in love with Michael? Maybe the fact that he doesn’t know, upon being asked whether he is or not, is a sign in itself? Or maybe it’s just testament to how fucking lonely he is, that he’s got to the age of twenty-four and never once fallen in love?

Or has he? He’s always thought he’s never been in love, never know what that’s like, but that’s because no one’s ever been able to take Michael’s place in his heart – maybe that’s telling? Maybe the whole point is that he’s been in love with Michael all this time and…just never noticed?

How the fuck could he be in love with someone without noticing, though? Surely that’s not possible – surely he’d know, have some moment where he had an epiphany, like Michael, and thought, _fuck, I’m in love with him_. And he hasn’t had a moment like that.

But he’s had moments that are almost the opposite, he thinks. Moments where someone he’s been dating has started showing signs of wanting to be serious and Calum’s only thought has been Michael. Moments where people have thrown themselves at him, wanting him to take them out, take them home, and Calum’s just smiled, been polite, thinking of Michael being there when he gets back, of where he and Michael are going to go out for dinner and what video game they’re going to play after. Michael’s always the only one on his mind.

So maybe Calum’s never fallen in love not because no one’s been up to scratch, but because he’s been in love this whole time.

The calm, secure feeling that washes over him after that thought almost frightens him.

He’s in love.

He’s always been in love. With fucking _Michael Clifford_.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Calum mumbles to himself. “Holy-” Fuck, he needs to talk to Michael.

 _Michael_ , he thinks, as loudly as he possibly can, clambering back onto the bus clumsily. _Michael, please, we have to talk_.

 _Don’t want to_ , Michael thinks back as Calum stumbles through the lounge area, getting in between Ashton and Luke and the screen, much to Luke’s chagrin. Calum ignores him, carries on to the bunk area, and rips open the curtain on Michael’s bunk.

“Michael,” he says, feeling dizzy. “Michael.”

“What part of ‘I don’t want to’ do you not understand, Calum?” Michael says angrily. “Go. Away.”

“Mikey,” Calum says. “I- I love you.”

“Don’t,” Michael says fiercely. “Don’t you fucking _dare_. You- you know how I feel. You forced it out of me. I tried so hard to keep it out of my head, to not think about it, or to hide it, so we could stay friends, be normal. So just…don’t.”

“I don’t- Mikey, I-”

“Don’t!” Michael snaps, stunning Calum into silence. “Don’t,” he says again, after a moment, sounding tired.

“Mikey-”

“Don’t!” Michael yells. “I don’t want your fucking pity, Calum, so just fucking-”

 _I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU_ , Calum thinks over Michael’s shouting, as loudly as he possibly can.

This time, Michael’s stunned into silence, stopping mid-word.

“You’re not,” he says wearily. “I can read your mind, Calum. I’ve read your mind these past few weeks. You’re not in love with me.”

“Read it now,” Calum says, and starts replaying memories. Girls and guys he was dating, months and months, without being able to get serious because he was always thinking of Michael, texting Michael on their dates when he went to the toilet and wanting to check his phone every two minutes to see Michael’s replies; being on stage, with an entire crowd of fans in front of him and only wanting to look over at Michael and see him lit up, grinning and happy; being in the studio, watching Michael sing a song he’d written with a full heart beating hard and proud in his chest, thinking _I love him, that’s my fucking boy right there_.

“I didn’t know,” Calum says helplessly. “I- I never thought about it. I never had a moment like you, because it was always there.”

“How can you not know if you’re in love with someone?” Michael says. His tone is unreadable.

“I don’t know,” Calum says. “But I didn’t know you were in love with me, either, and everyone else seems to have known, so.” He shrugs. “Guess I’m just not very observant.”

“You’re not…lying to me?” Michael asks slowly.

“Mikey, you can read my fucking mind,” Calum says. “Am I lying to you?” There’s a pause.

“No,” Michael says.

“So,” Calum says. “I mean. I’ve just had a mild crisis. It’d be nice if you’d get up so we can talk about this.”

 _We can talk about this like this_ , Michael thinks.

“No, come on,” Calum says. Michael doesn’t say anything, but there’s rustling in his bunk, and he drags himself out, straightening up so he can look Calum in the eye. Calum feels oddly exposed, suddenly, but he holds Michael’s gaze.

“I love you,” he says boldly, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the words somehow meaning something they’ve always meant, but he never knew.

 _I love you_ , Michael thinks.

“So?” Calum says, the nervousness leaking into his tone. “I feel like you should kiss me now.” Michael cocks his head.

“Oh, yeah?” he says.

“I mean, you were kind of a dick to me when I was trying to tell you I’m in love with you,” Calum says. A grin breaks out on Michael’s face.

“Say it again,” he says.

“I’m in love with you,” Calum says.

“I’m never going to get tired of hearing that,” Michael says.

“Good,” Calum says, “since you can read my mind, and it’s going to be there a lot now.” Michael takes a step closer, so close their noses are touching.

“You wanted a kiss?” he says.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say _wanted_ , more like _felt owed-_ ” Calum’s cut off by Michael’s lips, gentle but firm on his own, and he melts into it, kisses Michael back with a newfound vigour and _feels_ it, feels the fucking jittery nervousness and identifies it as _love_ , feels the excitement and knows it’s _love_ , feels the warmth and the safety and thinks how the fuck did he ever not know he was in love with Michael?

 _Be mine_ , Michael thinks, winding an arm around Calum’s waist.

“I’m already yours,” Calum says, breaking the kiss. _Always have been_.

 _Stay that way_.

 _Believe me, if there were a way for me not to be, I’d be out_ , Calum thinks, and Michael scowls and kicks at his shin.

“Way to ruin the moment,” Michael says.

 _I love you_ , Calum thinks honestly in response.

“Don’t blame you,” Michael says breezily.

“ _I_ ruined the moment?” Calum says, and Michael grins.

 _I love you_ , he thinks, and Calum feels the words go straight to his fucking heart, Jesus, when did he get so soft?

“You’ve always been soft,” Michael says. “Soft in the head.”

(He dodges the punch Calum aims at his arm expertly.)

\-------

“Guys,” Michael says the next morning, curled up on Calum’s lap pressing soft kisses into his neck. “Did you know me and Calum are in love?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, sounding bored. “How early is too early for lunch? I’m fucking starving.”

“You had breakfast, like, an hour ago,” Ashton points out.

“That’s why I’m asking when is too early,” Luke says.

“Hey,” Michael says, frowning. “Did you even hear me?”

“Yeah, Mike,” Ashton says distractedly. “I feel like lunchtime starts at around twelve.”

“I told you,” Calum says to Michael, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “They knew.”

“How?” Michael demands.

“You’re so fucking obvious,” Luke says, off-hand. “Eleven’s too early, right?”

“Definitely too early,” Ashton agrees.

“Fuck,” Luke says, under his breath. “I want lunch.”

“Well, Calum’s having _my dick_ for lunch,” Michael says loudly.

All three of them stop, and turn to look at him.

 _Fuck_ , Michael thinks. _That sounded so much better in_ -

“Yes, Michael,” Calum says. “That did sound so much better in your head.”


End file.
